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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416986">So Beautiful a Darkness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/XarisEirene/pseuds/XarisEirene'>XarisEirene</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ben Solo Lives, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Dyad (Star Wars), Force Visions, Humor, Identity Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren Redemption, Married Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Mild Angst, Not Canon Compliant, POV Rey (Star Wars), Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Rey Solo, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Romance, Soft Ben Solo, Soulmates, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, Sweet Kisses, The Force Made Them Do It (Star Wars), The Force Ships It, True Love, becoming a Force dyad, healing memories, innocent Rey and repressed Ben</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/XarisEirene/pseuds/XarisEirene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On her way to rescue Chewie, Rey intends only a quick detour to snatch the Sith dagger from the Supreme Leader’s quarters. His cowl has other ideas. It’s hard to fight when you’re holding hands. </p>
<p>In which Kylo Ren and Rey agree to forge the dyad, come what may.</p>
<p>---------------------------</p>
<p>“I don’t think this will go the way you think.” His words are eerily similar to Master Luke’s before she left to rescue Ben the first time—and it hadn’t gone how she hoped. His voice sinks quiet and low. “I’m afraid you’ll regret this. I don’t—I don’t know how I’d bear it if my soul were joined with yours and you resented me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey &amp; Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ijustfellintothissendhelp</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Thief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yet another fic to circumvent the tragedy that is TROS’ ending. The first few chapters are loosely inspired by Dr. Strange’s Cloak of Levitation from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, though not a crossover (maybe Ren’s cowl is a cousin?). </p>
<p>This story is rather self-indulgent—an abundance of Reylo conversations, Force visions, soft moments, and favorite tropes. But hey, it’s fanfic, right? It starts out a little silly (content warning for claustrophobia in the first three chapters) then takes an introspective plunge and ends sweet. There’s some innuendo, but nothing that should push the rating higher.</p>
<p>Lastly, my heartfelt appreciation to Kiwi1018, without whose lovely encouragement I’d still be dabbling around in four WIPs instead of finishing this one!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey has what she’s come for—the Sith dagger tucked in her satchel—plus Chewie’s weapons, which were an unexpected find. She dare not linger, not when Finn and Poe might need her help retrieving the <em>Falcon</em> and freeing Chewbacca from the First Order’s grasp, but she takes a last look around Kylo Ren’s quarters aboard the <em>Steadfast</em>. The chamber hums with his presence, a pulsing energy in the air that’s both heady and alarming.</p><p>If she ever pictures him here—not that she does, of course—he’s enveloped in dark luxury, muted light, and a hazy malevolence crouching in the corners like a spider in its web.</p><p>Definitely not this bright, white vaulted ceiling with its diamond viewport to the stars. Certainly not these curious canisters and antennae rising from the floors. Or the intriguing window onto a geared system and blinking panels that beckon from the walls. What does he do in here? And all these alcoves and compartments? Her scavenger heart aches to explore. Oh, the treasures she might find.</p><p>Save for Darth Vader’s mask on its basalt plinth, this space smacks of Ben Solo. How ironic that a man who fights the light should immerse himself in it.</p><p>A tap to her shoulder makes her spin, heart pattering with fear that Ren has somehow returned from the planet below and caught her thieving. </p><p>But everything’s in place, neat and orderly—except for his cloak, which drapes to the floor in a careless black waterfall. As if he tossed it aside and forgot it. Was it there when she entered? Her fingers twitch with a peculiar desire to touch it.</p><p>She’ll just make a quick circuit en route to the exit. She’s passing between the plinth and the wall, hand trailing over a tempting compartment latch, when she feels it again—a distinct tap to her shoulder. She centers in the Force and seeks for anomalies. Except for the same heightened sense of <em>him</em>, nothing’s amiss.</p><p>She turns and takes a sharp step back.</p><p>Is she seeing things? His cowl drapes over Vader’s mask as if it were a garment on display in a trader’s kiosk. It was definitely on the other side of the room where she found the Sith blade—and now it’s here.</p><p>She places Chewie’s bowcaster in the nearby alcove and reaches, palm hovering. She shouldn’t touch it.</p><p>Then the material is between her fingers, thicker than expected and supple like leather, with an allure that makes her reluctant to release it. And warm, as if it generates a heat all its own. She could use one of these. Would he miss it?</p><p>She really shouldn’t touch it.</p><p>Rey withdraws her hand, but somehow the whole mass of heavy fabric follows and gathers into her arms, leaving the twisted relic undisturbed. It curls against her chest and compels her to stroke it like a cat. She doesn’t recall picking it up.</p><p>A distinctive aroma ascends into her nostrils—smoke and earth, sweat and a dark, rich spice...<em>Ben</em>.  She buries her nose in the dark folds, closes her eyes, and inhales.</p><p>Their whole fraught history flows through her mind, their connection in the Force growing from a trickle to a stream to a river. This <em>thing</em> between them. This unsought bond that, however much Kylo Ren may vex her, still affords her glimpses into his shadowed soul, into the light that flickers there. Glimpses that whisper to her heart of home and belonging.</p><p>If she donned his cloak, if she wrapped it around her shoulders, could she imagine being held in Ben’s arms? She’s not likely to ever know the reality, not while the conflict between them continues to escalate. What would it hurt for one moment to indulge the fantasy? The impulse batters at her as if the cowl itself wants this.</p><p>She shouldn’t do it.</p><p>But then she’s setting aside her quarterstaff, shaking out the cowl’s long folds, settling it around her shoulders, and drawing the hood up over her head. The dark embraces her and it happens just as she hoped. His arms surround her. His heart beats steady and strong beneath her cheek.</p><p>***</p><p>A deep voice calls as from a distance. “Rey?”</p><p>She hums in response, snug and safe in her warm cocoon. Why is he disturbing her peace?</p><p>“Rey?” More urgently this time.</p><p>Something shoves the hood back. She blinks into the brightness, lost for a moment until she recalls she’s in Kylo Ren’s suite. The glare recedes and the man himself stands before her, hands lingering near her shoulders. They’re bubbled in the odd sound shift that signifies their Force-connections.</p><p>“Ben!” She squeaks. Because she’s in his quarters, in his cloak, and daydreaming about him.</p><p>He tilts his head, mask unreadable. “What are you—”</p><p>She tries to step aside, trips in the garment’s hem, and flounders to keep her balance.</p><p>His hands stabilize her and she wrenches free, but not before he pulls a swathe of fabric between gloved fingers. “You’re wearing my cowl. Where are you?”</p><p>If he doesn’t know, she’ll be the last to tell him. That’s a small mercy, anyway. She reaches for her lightsaber, but she can’t even find it under the endless material. The cloak must come off. This instant. Her hands fly to the neck and seek the clasp. Of which there is none. It appears to be anchored to her shoulders.</p><p>“Where did you find my cowl? I’ve been searching for it.”</p><p>What in stars should she say? <em>So, er, I was checking out your quarters when it sort of called to me. And I, well, I had this wild notion I’d try it on and imagine how your arms—how Ben’s arms, I mean—would feel around me.</em> That will never do.</p><p>“Here—take your stupid cloak.” She yanks and tugs at her shoulders, but it’s stuck fast.</p><p>“Hold on. Don’t rip it.”</p><p>As if she could.</p><p>He leans down, his mask mere inches from her ear, the respirator loud and uncomfortable. “It must be caught. I don’t have a spare.”</p><p>“One would think the Supreme Leader of the First Order would own a whole closet full of cloaks.” She bites back a laugh over his uncharacteristic concern for an article of clothing. She certainly never enjoyed that luxury—neither spare clothing nor worrying overmuch about the ones she wore.</p><p>He mumbles something that sounds like, “I’m not Lando.”</p><p>His gloved fingertips touch her nape and she stiffens. He could snap her neck or crush her windpipe in a blink. The idiotic cloak has her pinned.</p><p>He straightens. “I’ll need to remove my mask and gloves to help you.”</p><p>“Well?” She snaps when he makes no move to do so. It’s bad enough being forced to rely on her mortal enemy to free her. “Then do it!”</p><p>“Not here.” He glances at his surroundings, presumably still planetside on Kijimi, if the cold emanating from him and the coat that bloats him into a charred sweetmallow are any indication. “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”</p><p>Her nostrils flare. The last thing she needs is to be in Kylo Ren’s quarters alone with him. “Don’t bother.”</p><p>She returns to work on the stubborn cloak. Surely it’s only snagged in the fabric of her own cowl. She can draw the dagger and cut it off as a last resort. She pulls with all her strength, her grip slips, and her elbow slams into something hard. Ow.</p><p>The something shatters, but she can only clutch her throbbing joint while hopping up and down. Ugh. Why are elbows so disproportionately sensitive?</p><p>By the time she turns to assess what happened, Ren’s masked stare is intent on the splintered ashes of his idol.</p><p>Oops.</p><p>“You’re in my quarters.” A note of wonder slips through his voice modulator. “Wait for me. I have something to tell you.”</p><p>And he flashes out of existence.</p><p>***</p><p>“Like stars I will,” Rey mutters and fumbles for the satchel’s flap. The dagger. Mangling his precious cloak will incite his wrath, but that’s not her concern. He can order another made. Only minutes remain to escape and meet Poe, Finn and Chewie in the hangar.</p><p>But she can’t reach the satchel. There’s cloak, cloak and more cloak. She tries to sweep it aside, but it sweeps back and blocks her hand. If that’s the way it’s going to be— </p><p>She bunches fabric in her fists. If she can pull enough off the floor, she can run with it. She’ll just take it with her. But it’s either infinite in length or too heavy to lift. Fine.</p><p>She’ll step through the opening in front and allow it to billow behind her like Kylo Ren does when he strides about appearing ominous. If she moves fast enough, it will simply trail behind in an ebony shadow. Her boot toes around for the slit, but it’s impossible to find in the maze of material. Her heart hammers with adrenaline and frustration growls in her throat.</p><p>She calms her spirit and focuses in the Force. But her higher senses are blind, as if the cloak absorbs every effort at manipulation. Nothing gives. Who knew his cowl was a secret weapon? This has already cost too much time.</p><p>She targets a Force-leap at the steps leading to the exit. If it works, she’ll look like a tauntaun bounding through the ship, but better that than being caught here. She launches with the power of her jump—and doesn’t come down. The cloak suspends her a couple yards above the gleaming white tiles. No, no, no. This isn’t good. Ren will be here any moment.</p><p>“Put me down!” She punches and kicks at the fabric, but it’s about as effective as grappling smoke.</p><p>And that’s how he finds her.</p><p>“Rey?” His boots clatter down the steps and he slides to a halt almost beneath her.</p><p>“Call it off!” She shouts at him. “Tell it to put me down!”</p><p>He shrugs out of the ridiculous puffy parka and tosses it aside. His helmet and gloves follow. When he looks up at her again, amusement glitters in his dark eyes.</p><p>She howls at him. “This is not funny!”</p><p>“I beg to disagree. The last Jedi bested by my cowl? If only I’d known it’d be so easy.” He steps forward and tugs at the hem that flaps near his head, but his actions don’t release her. “Rey. Be still. I said I’d help you.”</p><p>She’s not inclined to comply, but her efforts are accomplishing nothing. She halts and glares at him for good measure.</p><p>“Tell me what happened.”</p><p>“I don’t know.” She sighs. There’s no lying to him, not with how they’re connected, and the truth is simple enough. “I tried on your cowl. I couldn’t get it off.”</p><p>“Why did you try on my cowl?”</p><p>Ah. Now that— His mind brushes against hers, the sensation having long ago ceased to be unpleasant. Did he see why she tried it on? Did he witness her unaccountable moment of weakness and longing before she could sweep the memory aside?</p><p>Something uncoils inside him like a long-held breath, but whatever his opinion on her motivations, it’s not close enough to his surface thoughts for her to skim and he refrains from commenting.</p><p>“Now,” she repeats in a calmer voice, “will you please let me down?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Cowl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey dangles below the ceiling like some grotesque chandelier, while Ren circles and considers her from different angles. She’s restless and more annoyed than afraid. This delay not only jeopardizes the mission, but also puts her compatriots at serious risk.  </p>
<p>And who knows what Ren intends. Maybe he’s not even sure himself, what with the way he’s examining and probing in the Force, his eyes round with the same fascinated expression he wore when they first began appearing to one another. He steps back and crosses his arms.</p>
<p>Objectively speaking, he’s a handsome man when he’s not wearing the stupid mask, striking of feature and strong of build. She should know. Her memory flashes to an expanse of sculpted muscle and his utter indifference to how the sight discomposed her. Not that she’s attracted to Kylo Ren. Of course not.</p>
<p>His eyebrows rise a fraction. Has he caught the trend in her thoughts? Bother. She really needs to strengthen her shields around him, but it’s a continual strain.</p>
<p>“Why are you in my quarters?” Ren asks without preamble.</p>
<p>“Are you planning to interrogate me?”</p>
<p>“You’re hardly in a position to argue.”</p>
<p>“And if I don’t cooperate?”</p>
<p>His mouth turns down. “Why are you in my quarters?”</p>
<p>“Why do you think?” It’s an obvious ploy to see what he knows and she doubts he’ll fall for it.</p>
<p>“I’d like to say it’s because you reconsidered my offer, but—” He shrugs. Apparently the whole cloak debacle has improved his general disposition. “I presume you’re on a mission to retrieve Chewbacca and that old rust-bucket of a freighter. Oh, and the Sith dagger you’ve stashed under my cowl, both of which you must return.”</p>
<p>“Stay out of my head.” She didn’t sense his intrusion that time, but then he is more experienced with the Force.</p>
<p>“Simple deduction.” He points to the side alcove. “You had Chewie’s bowcaster, the blade is missing, and your friends are currently in detention.”</p>
<p>In detention? No! Not Finn and Poe. This is all her fault. She led them here, and it’s her responsibility to free them. She pummels his cloak with the Force. But the harder she strikes, the more aggressively it responds. Her head snaps back and the room goes dark. Sight returns with dizzying pinpricks of light.</p>
<p>“Rey?” He almost sounds concerned.</p>
<p>She scowls down at him. Yes, that’s definitely concern creasing his brow and washing across their bond. Why would he be concerned about her?</p>
<p>“You’re going to hurt yourself.”</p>
<p>“Says the man who routinely tries to kill me.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never—” Something almost wounded flits across his face—the slightest tremor to his lips and fleeting hurt in his eyes—and then it’s gone. “There’s something I need to tell you.”</p>
<p>“I’m in no mood for a chat,” she grits out as she resumes her attack on the cloak. Not when her friends are in danger. It’s not like Ren won’t have another opportunity. He’s never shy about sharing his opinions when the Force connects them.</p>
<p>“Listen!” He bellows.</p>
<p>She startles to a stop.</p>
<p>“If I set the traitor and his friends free—including Chewbacca—and allow them to leave on the <em>Falcon</em>, will you stay and hear me out? Without fighting?”</p>
<p>“What about after? What’s in it for you?” She hesitates. There must be a catch, especially if he’s willing to make such a concession with no apparent benefit. “I have no interest in being your prisoner—or your partner.”</p>
<p>His jaw clenches. “You have neither time nor means to negotiate. General Hux or General Pryde <em>will</em> execute them.”</p>
<p>Fear snakes up her spine. How is it she trusts Ren more than his generals?</p>
<p>“Go ahead,” he flicks a hand at the air. “Find them in the Force. I’m telling you the truth.”</p>
<p>She does and it’s just as he’s said. She senses the volatility of her friends’ predicament and their resolve spiked with terror. Dread clouds her mind; she blows it away with a deep breath.</p>
<p>The stupid cowl will keep her captive until Ren decides otherwise. If he says he’ll release them, there’s no real reason to doubt he’ll follow through—apart from the fact that he’s Supreme Leader and answers to no one. But if he keeps his word, then it’s only her own escape she’ll need to manage.</p>
<p>“Fine.” She yields, though not without a degree of bitterness. “I’ll stay and talk to you.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>From her position suspended in his cowl, Rey watches Ren stalk over to a comm station. He exchanges heated words with his evidently recalcitrant generals, his fist clenches at his side, and the static sounds of choking cross the audio before he returns his attention to her. “It’s done.”</p>
<p>“I want confirmation first.”</p>
<p>Tiny muscles in his jaw leap and his shoulders bunch, but he taps a datapad and a security feed showing the <em>Falcon</em> appears onscreen.</p>
<p>Making out the details is difficult from her elevation, but they watch in silence as the Wookiee, Finn and Poe march to the <em>Falcon</em> at blaster point. The ship launches into space like a blue-tailed comet. Their familiar signatures stretch and diminish in the Force. They’re safely away. Rey exhales. Hopefully they won’t do something reckless like try to mount a rescue.</p>
<p>“Satisfied?” Ren swipes off the screen.</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you.” And she means it, as far as goodwill gestures go. “Now put me down.”</p>
<p>“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Naturally he’s going to be difficult. What else should she expect?</p>
<p>“It would feel less like an <em>interrogation</em> and more like a <em>conversation</em> if we spoke eye”—her stomach flips with the speed at which she drops to a halt directly in front of his face—“to eye.” If she tipped her head forward, their noses would touch.</p>
<p>He freezes, his expression as surprised as she feels—which is odd, since he only has himself to blame for her proximity.</p>
<p>All she can think is his irises aren’t the color she always assumed—not Leia’s chocolate brown but shades of hazel like the sun spilling into a shadowed cavern. Intense. Soulful. Sad. There’s <em>something</em> in his eyes. A secret. A promise. If she stares into his eyes long enough, she’ll find the answer. To—to what?</p>
<p>“Yes, well.” He steps back a pace and his brows pucker.</p>
<p>The increased distance brings her back to herself, still floating several inches above the floor. “On my own two feet would be even better.”</p>
<p>She alights on the solid surface—who knew he could be so biddable?—and resumes detaching his cape from her shoulders. Whatever he has to say, she’ll not be caged by his cowl again.</p>
<p>“Allow me.” He circles around behind her and his hands join hers fiddling at her neck. Except this time, whenever his bare fingers touch her nape, little jolts of electricity skitter across her flesh. Her fine hairs stand on end. She endures his nearness in hopes it will hasten her release.</p>
<p>“Almost there,” he murmurs.</p>
<p>She represses a shiver at his breath in her hair. It makes her feel skittish and jumbly inside. Surely it’s just apprehension.</p>
<p>One shoulder is unfastened and in his hand. He swings around to her front. “I’ll just—”</p>
<p>The cloak billows up in a furious storm of black. Rey swats at the endless folds, but it’s everywhere at once and impossible to contain. As if the stupid thing has a mind of its own. How in the worlds does he manage to fight so well while wearing it?</p>
<p>She collides with something hard and there’s an “oof.”</p>
<p>When Rey recovers her bearings, her face is mashed into Ren’s shoulder and her body is crushed against his. “What the—kriff!”</p>
<p>He swears.</p>
<p>She shoves away with all her strength and the Force too, but something squeezes her against him even tighter. The stitches of his quilted doublet bite into her cheek. Chewie’s bandolier cuts painfully across her breasts and Ren’s massive belt is going to leave a permanent imprint on her stomach. Not to mention the man himself. He’s as rigid as a durasteel wall.</p>
<p>“Ben.” She wheezes.</p>
<p>His muscles tense and twitch against her, but whatever binds them constricts yet further.</p>
<p>Her vision dims at the edges. She’s going to pass out. She’s going to die trussed up to Kylo Ren and no one will ever know what happened to her. Images of bones picked clean, sun-bleached, and half-buried in the sands of Jakku flit through her mind. Her muscles slacken and the pressure eases enough to suck air.</p>
<p>Ren breathes too. “For someone so optimistic, you have a rather morbid imagination.”</p>
<p>She shifts her head to peer up at him—and meets the straight line of his jaw, peppered with dark stubble. Up close, he’s not as large or intimidating as he appears from the far side of a lightsaber. He can’t be more than four or five inches taller than she is. <em>He’s just right</em>. She clamps down on the traitorous thought before he can catch it. His imposing figure must be due to his unrelenting black clothes—that, and his larger-than-life presence. And his mask. And his cowl.</p>
<p>The cowl! It’s his ridiculous cowl that’s lashed them together from shoulder to knee.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey gives the cowl another experimental wiggle. No luck.</p>
<p>Ren hoists his head aside in an effort to see her face and stares down his long, patrician nose at her. His emotions are blank, so carefully controlled in their bond that she can’t read him. The knob in his throat rolls up and down at just the height for her to track.</p>
<p>His mouth opens. “This is awkward.”</p>
<p>It’s the most human and unexpected thing he could have said. And true. She laughs. Her stomach muscles contract against the hard plane of his abs and cut her off mid-chortle. She’s never been this close to anyone. Ever. It’s unnerving.</p>
<p>Pink tinges his pale cheeks.</p>
<p>“Look, Ben.” Anger’s not going to solve this. She musters as much of a smile as she can manage. “You don’t have to go to such lengths to keep me. I said I’d stay. Whatever you have to say, I’ll listen. Just—you know—” She tries to gesture, but her arms are pinioned. “Call off your cape.”</p>
<p>“Believe me, I wish I could,” he says.</p>
<p>“What?” Surely this was all an elaborate effort to snare her.</p>
<p>“I’m not controlling it.”</p>
<p>“Your cloak’s not imbued with some sort of Sith magic?”</p>
<p>“First, I’m not a Sith.” He snorts. “And, second, you know that’s not how the Force works.”</p>
<p>“In that case—”  She commences an animated wriggle. She’s a scavenger. She’s conquered claustrophobia and many a narrow space. If she could just shimmy down, he’s slimmer at the hips. It’s a tight squeeze and growing tighter by the minute, but she might be making progress. Until Chewie’s bandolier catches on his belt. The cowl snugs closer.</p>
<p>“Rey. Stop. Please.” His words sound oddly strangled, and a hint of discomfort sneaks through the bond.</p>
<p>She stops. “Am I hurting you?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer.</p>
<p>Her glance up meets flared nostrils and flushed cheeks. And the width of his chest surges into her with each controlled breath. Is he trying to meditate? This hardly seems the moment. It’s warm, she’ll grant him that. Even for her desert tastes, the temperature has climbed.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” he growls. “Just don’t do that.”</p>
<p>Ren shouldn’t be discomfited; he’s able to tolerate extreme pain. An image of him pounding a fist against his wound in the forest outside Starkiller springs to mind and she shudders. “I was only trying—”</p>
<p>His low timbre vibrates from his ribs into hers. “We’ll find another way.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, lovely readers, for your enthusiasm about this silly-ish start! Your comments and kudos make me so happy. I hope this chapter brought a smile to your face--or even a laugh. Be safe and have a glorious day! ;-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Bond</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Any more brilliant ideas, your Supreme-ness?” Rey shouldn’t snark at Ren, it’s like prodding a caged animal, but he’s not exactly helping.</p>
<p>“The real winner was thinking you could blow it up,” he retorts.</p>
<p>“We could have shielded ourselves in the Force.” She sniffs, though she’s uncertain the Force would have cooperated. Not that it matters now. Chewie’s bandolier—and the explosives within it—lie unreachable halfway across the chamber.</p>
<p>He sighs. “There’s a knife in my boot. Right leg, outside top.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say so before?”</p>
<p>“Pardon me if I hesitate to arm a woman who’s tried to slay me.”</p>
<p>So he has a sense of humor buried under all that gravitas and arrogance.</p>
<p>“The cowl won’t permit me to lift my knee, but if I stand on one leg and bend the other back”—his weight transfers to his left—“that should bring it within your reach.”</p>
<p>“I’ll try.” It’s their most promising idea yet, even if it does remind her of a ridiculous game Finn and Rose play that twists their limbs into knots.</p>
<p>Rey’s head dips below the cowl's top edge, and her hand inches down his right thigh. The muscle is taut beneath her touch, like the time she grabbed him and they balanced each other while fighting Snoke’s Praetorian guards. What a high that was—the way the Force flowed through them together with breathtaking power and synchronicity.</p>
<p>“Rey,” he barks. “Knife now, reminisce later.”</p>
<p>Right. Her fingers are between his calf and the boot, the haft in her grip, when his cloak tightens, squashing her face into his waist and forcing her mass onto his unsupported side.</p>
<p>Ren lists sideways and jams his boot down. The blade skitters away across the slick tiles. Kriff. At least they didn't topple to the floor.</p>
<p>It takes a minute of writhing to straighten, pop her head out, and gasp for air. “Next time <em>you</em> dive inside the cowl.”</p>
<p>They try. For what feels like hours. They try every possible solution separately and jointly, with the Force and without—including another thorough shimmy, to which Ren reluctantly agrees and endures once more with closed eyes and deep breathing, though the cloak defeats Rey’s best endeavors to either climb his trunk or slink down his thighs.</p>
<p>She assures him she’s squirmed out of tighter spots when scavenging. He’s unmoved.</p>
<p>At one point, his cape lifts them bodily into the air and spins so fast she’s compelled to clutch his torso and tuck her face in his neck—only to be lost in his rich, spiced scent that makes her yearn to curl into him as she would before a fire on a winter night. That is, if she weren’t dizzy. When the spinning stops, they cling to each other in silence and wait for the nausea to abate.</p>
<p>In the end, all they have to show for their efforts are confirmation that the cowl interferes with their use of the Force and a small armory scattered across the illuminated floor: two lightsabers, the satchel, her blaster in its holster, Chewie’s bandolier, Ren’s belt and several knives. His cloak has confiscated their weapons and left them effectively declawed. They might as well be stripped naked, which is an unfortunate image—</p>
<p>“Rey,” he grumbles. “Even minimal effort at shielding your thoughts would help.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, sorry.” If she sounds a trifle petulant, he shouldn’t blame her, considering how many times she’s been obliged to apologize when her mental barriers lapse. “But I’m tired and blocking you is draining.”</p>
<p>He sighs. “My offer still stands. You need a teacher.”</p>
<p>Would his instruction be such a bad idea? She’s declined up to this point. But he <em>was</em> a Jedi once. Leia can only teach her so much. And as long as this bond persists, it would be convenient—scratch that—it will be a necessity to close him out. “Okay, but <em>only</em> to block you. What do I need to do?”</p>
<p>“Not now,” he says in a dry tone. “You think I’m going to teach you while we’re trapped like this?”</p>
<p>“Do we have anything better to do?”</p>
<p>“Have you noticed the cowl loosened again?”</p>
<p>She hadn’t, but since he’s mentioned it, she finds she can shift a bit, which is good, because a maddening trickle of sweat is starting to trail down between her breasts.</p>
<p>“It means our efforts haven’t been entirely unproductive,” he says.</p>
<p>“How’s that?” She only half listens and doesn’t bother looking at him. Will he notice if she pulls a shoulder back to flatten her breast band and wick the moisture?</p>
<p>“We’ve determined that the more we fight the cowl, the more it constricts and, conversely, the less we fight and more we talk, the more it releases.”</p>
<p>“You want to <em>talk</em> our way out of this?” But she can hardly think for the itch. If only she could raise her arms. “Just hold still, will you?”</p>
<p>It takes a microsecond, a quick rub side-to-side, and—Stars!—what blessed relief.</p>
<p>Ren’s throat emits a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.</p>
<p>“Better now, thanks,” she mumbles and turns her burning cheeks away to stare at a control panel blinking from the white wall. “If you really want to talk, this seems like as good a time as any.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey is mortified. What happens when one of them needs to visit the ‘fresher? Their predicament is surreal, and the cowl defies explanation. If the two strongest Force-users in the galaxy can’t escape, her prospects are grim. Will she be imprisoned or worse? Eventually the Supreme Leader will be missed and someone will find them, even if only a droid delivering breakfast. In fact, it’s remarkable he hasn’t summoned help already, not that she’ll suggest it.</p>
<p>The thought of being tied to Kylo Ren makes her shudder, but the thought of being tied to Ben Solo makes her shiver. In a good way. She’s always separated them in her mind, but that’s only deceiving herself. With his heated body pressed to hers, there’s no denying the reality that he’s the same man. She must confront the fact that she—last Jedi of the Resistance—is <em>attracted</em> to the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Ethics scream its wrong, wrong, wrong. The Force screams its right, right, right.</p>
<p>“I have several things to tell you,” Ren says at last, cutting off her thoughts. “But we’ll start with this. I’ve been researching our bond and trying to figure out how we’re linked. Snoke is dead, but we’re still connected, so it’s clear he was lying about bridging our minds.”</p>
<p>She reached that conclusion some time ago, but he’s piqued her curiosity. She flips her head on his shoulder to face him again. “I’m listening.”</p>
<p>“Have you sensed it growing stronger?”</p>
<p>“You know I have.” How many times has she complained about her struggle to block him?  Shutting him out had been so easy after Crait that she could almost forget the bond’s existence—almost—but then awareness of his presence increased until he was springing up wherever she went, dogging her steps, and hovering like a shadow in her mind.</p>
<p>“We can pass physical objects now, and I suspect we’ll be able to do more as it progresses. I took those beads from you on Pasaana.”</p>
<p>“I’m still mad at you about that. Those were a gift.”</p>
<p>“You have no cause to be angry about some measly festival beads when you wrecked my TIE Whisper. Those mods were custom-ordered too.” But if he mourns the loss, there’s no ire in his words or resentment in their bond.</p>
<p>For an instant, she tastes again her adrenaline, the wild thrill of him barreling across the desert at her, and her mad leap. “You could have killed me.”</p>
<p>“But I didn’t.”</p>
<p>Just like she didn’t kill him, though she could have. Which meant he had pushed her on purpose. What were his intentions? Does he exult—same as she does—in the sheer exhilaration of raw power?</p>
<p>“Admit it.” She nudges her body against his length. “You were impressed.”</p>
<p>“I was.” He nudges back. “I am.”</p>
<p>A blossom of warmth unfurls inside her with his approval and admiration. She shouldn’t feel gratified, not by the good opinion of her adversary. But she does.  </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey transfers her weight from one leg to the other. Even though she can lean into the cowl for support, she wearies of standing still.</p>
<p>“Our bond is expanding.” As if he’s read her mind, Ren shifts and braces her body with his, but she can’t discern if he moved consciously or not. “At some point, it will become impossible to keep each other out.”</p>
<p>What would that mean? If he were privy to all her thoughts and feelings—and vice versa? Never mind the unwanted intimacy and invasion of privacy. If they were fully connected and she could hide nothing from him, he could delve everything she knows about the Resistance. About Leia. Then again, she could access everything he knows about the First Order. The ultimate insider threat. They’d have to abandon their posts lest they risk their respective missions. Or maybe mutual destruction would bring a swift end to the war.</p>
<p>“Is there any way we could, I don’t know, reverse it or maybe break it?” Even making the suggestion causes her heart to contract with a curious pang.</p>
<p>“It’s not”—his voice drops toward a hush—“it’s not like a cord that can be severed.”</p>
<p>Why is she relieved, as if something precious is no longer threatened?</p>
<p>“Comparisons break down, but I think the bond is more like a door opening into what exists beyond. Or maybe like a tapestry—every strand added makes the picture clearer.”</p>
<p>Somehow as they’ve been talking, he’s relaxed a little and the cowl has loosened more. He leans farther toward her and his bare knuckles brush hers in the vicinity of her thigh. She stifles the instinct to jerk away. His fingers crawl across her skin until her hand settles in his like a coupling on a ship.</p>
<p>Is she really holding hands with him?</p>
<p>“Rey, we are—” Whatever he means to say snags in his throat.</p>
<p>She presses a tentative squeeze to his strong, calloused fingers.</p>
<p>“We’re a dyad in the Force.” He speaks with a reverence that makes her feel like she ought to recognize the term, but it’s strange and savors of mythological cave creatures in stories told around fires to pass cold nights on Jakku.</p>
<p>“A dyad is a pairing between two Force-users that’s extremely rare and powerful,” he continues, a scholar sharing his insights. “Some writings compare it to two halves of one soul, and it only occurs maybe once in a thousand generations. The Sith tried to manipulate conditions so a Force-dyad would form, but they never succeeded. I now believe it’s because they had it wrong. They were trying to form a bond between two beings and didn’t understand those beings must be formed <em>for</em> the bond.”</p>
<p>She should be terrified or distressed at such a possibility, but the fluttery feeling in her chest echoes the excitement she senses building in him. “So you think <em>we</em> are this one-in-a-thousand formed for each other in the Force?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Exactly. It’s not something the bond is doing to us, but as the bond grows, it opens us to what we already are. We are one in the Force. We are becoming what we were always meant to be. Our bond will keep expanding until—until we’ve achieved the union that’s the heart of a dyad. Until the bond itself is superfluous.” His thumb drifts across the back of her linked hand, gentle and comforting. “It’s like a bud coming into bloom, but the fullness of the flower was always contained in the seed.”</p>
<p>The image springs to life in her mind’s eye, and her heart patters. Who knew he was such a poet? “You make it sound beautiful.”  </p>
<p>“It could be.” His chest rises and falls in a sigh beneath her cheek. “I know you didn’t choose this—you didn’t choose me—but whether we wish it or not, the Force did.”</p>
<p>What he says about their dyad resonates with truth, like an answer to a question that’s always burned within her yet she never had words to ask. Like something she’s always known deep down in that secret place where the Force whispers. Like a cosmic <em>yes</em> to the promise that’s sustained all her hopes. She’s trusted him with her life before. Can she trust him in this?</p>
<p>An idea begins to form, amorphous at first then sending a frisson of anticipation through her as it takes shape. What she used to feel when a sandstorm was just beyond the horizon or before she discovered something valuable in her scavenging. What she now associates with the Force moving in and through her.</p>
<p>Just as the cowl is compelling them into this conversation, the Force is compelling them into this dyad. But what if— What if they leaned into it instead of resisting? What if they quit fighting?</p>
<p>True union must resolve the conflict within and between them. The question is which way it will go. Will it restore him to the light and end the war in his soul? Or will it push her into the dark? She’s certain there’s more light in him than darkness in her, and she’s strong. She’s repelled his invitations to the dark so far. It’s risky, but it feels right.</p>
<p>“Do you think we could somehow speed the process?” Even though her neck is sore, she tilts her head back to peer up at him. “Throw the door wide-open and see what happens?”</p>
<p>“You—” He twists his head to meet her gaze with narrowed eyes. “You’d want that?”</p>
<p>“If we’re a Force-dyad and nothing can change it, then why don't we quit fighting the bond and move on to the real thing.” She’s never been one to settle for half-measures, not once she’s decided to act. “Besides, maybe it’ll free us from your cowl.”</p>
<p>“That’s like deploying a Resurgent-class destroyer when a single TIE fighter would do.” He huffs a dark laugh. “Be honest, Rey. You think this will turn me to the light.”</p>
<p>“What if I do? What if it does?”</p>
<p>“What if it turns you?” His question lingers like a bass note, reverberating with warning and desire. “You would take my hand, join me on the Throne of the Sith, and rule together?” So he’s seen that sinister vision too.</p>
<p>She swallows hard and her pulse thrums, but it thrums with a certainty beyond reason. “I’m willing to take the chance.”</p>
<p>It’s not lost on her that she’s already holding his hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thus concludes act one. :-) The next arc shifts to a more serious tone as we leave the shallows behind for deeper waters. Thank you so much for joining this version of Rey and Ben on their journey. It’s deeply gratifying to know you're reading and enjoying this little story, and I love hearing your thoughts!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey squirms. Why does disquiet stalk her spirit as a razor-raptor hunts its prey, especially when she was so certain mere moments ago?</p><p>“Forging the dyad isn’t an experiment,” Ren says. “There’s no going back. If we do this, whatever we become on the other side, it’s not like we can change our minds and undo it.”</p><p>She studies the crease above his nose and the downturn to his mouth. The disquiet belongs to him. “You’re afraid. Why?”</p><p>He looks away and his protracted silence magnifies the steady hum of his quarters.</p><p>“I don’t think this will go the way you expect.” His words are eerily similar to Master Luke’s before she left to rescue Ben the first time—and it hadn’t gone how she hoped. His voice sinks quiet and low. “I’m afraid you’ll regret this. I don’t—I don’t know how I’d bear it if my soul were joined with yours and you resented me.”</p><p>There’s a painful candor here, in his admission, in his sober tone. His honesty convicts her. She considered only her risk of falling to the dark and not the risk to his heart or hers. His openness—more vulnerable than he’s ever been—touches and moves her, awakens a fierce compassion. He has nothing to fear from her. Dropping her mental ramparts, weak as they are, is effortless, as if she has held her breath for a year and can exhale at last. Her thoughts and feelings spill into their bond for him to interpret as he will.</p><p>She adjusts her hand to weave her fingers between his, draws her head aside and waits until he meets her eyes with his wary, shadowed gaze. “Ben, will you trust me?”</p><p>“Come here,” he says, a little gruff but surprisingly gentle, and it’s all the answer she needs.</p><p>She doesn’t see how she could come any closer, pinned against him as she is, but he centers her before him and takes her other hand. He bends his neck until their foreheads meet. The intimacy is alien and novel, and the tension in his limbs parallels hers.</p><p>“Shut your eyes.” His hands grip hers in reassurance.</p><p>She closes them, but that only heightens her awareness of his caf-tinged breath caressing her lips and their fingers twining. His physical presence is too overwhelming to meditate. “Do we—just—on the count of three or something?”</p><p>A muscle in his face twitches and she cracks an eyelid to peek. He’s smiling—not much of a smile but enough to lift the corner of a sealed eye.</p><p>“No,” he murmurs, “just let go and follow me.”</p><p>He gave a similar command once, but the contrast couldn’t be more striking. Then he was shouting in frustration and shaking with fury. This time his invitation is kind, their hands are joined, and they’ll let go together.</p><p>***</p><p>Rey lets go.</p><p>She tips forward through the bond and falls into him. The fall should be frightening, but it isn’t. There’s a gust of wind and smoke and the haze of his surface emotions—anxiety and fear, hope and longing. He’s not entirely persuaded this is a good idea, but he wants to do it. He’s wanted her almost since they first met. He hopes she’ll join him in the dark, that she’ll finally—finally—understand his persistence and why he’s so exasperated.</p><p>She doesn’t argue. She’s had the same thought, except in reverse. She sinks further.</p><p>The quandary with the cowl is an enigma. He doesn’t have any control over it and doesn’t understand how the Force animates it—if it is indeed the Force. Their imposed captivity irritates him, but he’s more intrigued than alarmed. He’s certain they’ll discover a solution eventually.</p><p>And he’s savoring how her slopes and curves conform to his frame more than he cares to admit. His precise accounting of where their bodies touch—of what is soft and yielding and what is not—takes her by surprise.</p><p>She pulls back. The cowl snugs her into him again.</p><p>He likes the sensual press—against his will. He tries and fails to halt the heady pleasure that ripples from him to her and back, like rings rebounding on the surface of a water trough. She inhales his scent, the rich spice that sends warmth tingling into every limb, and shivers with the shared bliss.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. She never knew sensation could be quite so exquisite. <em>Oh, Ben.</em></p><p>
  <em>What did you expect? We threw the bond wide open.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t pretend you’re any more immune to me than I am to you.</em>
</p><p>And she can’t pretend, because everything’s exposed—every touch, every stolen glance, every wandering thought that she’s denied with such vehemence. He sees it all. She can feel his amused satisfaction and silent jubilation that he stirs her too.</p><p><em>This can wait</em>, he says. <em>Let’s move on.</em></p><p>But she’s captivated. It’s all so new and she longs to know him.</p><p>The discomfort she caused him with her efforts to escape the cowl have absolutely nothing to do with pain. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rey looks away from his surge of shame and guilt, but there is no privacy. He has for all his life, first as a Jedi and then under Sith tutelage, either excised physical desires as weakness or channeled them as strength, but never indulged. He is a paragon of discipline, a pillar of self-control. But she threatens his very foundations. She arouses him. Her beauty, inward and outward, lures him into what has always been forbidden.</p><p><em>You think I’m beautiful?</em> She’s not angling for a compliment. Only complete transparency is possible within the sanctity of their dyad. She has been called many things but never beautiful. She never thought she cared.</p><p><em>Yes, </em>he says.</p><p>She’s eager to see herself through his eyes, but disappointment greets the same girl she meets every morning in the mirror.</p><p><em>Rey,</em> he says,<em> you’re beautiful. </em>Even as their physical bodies clasp hands within the cloak that binds them in his quarters, somehow Ben’s elemental self appears before her in their shared vision-space. His soft gaze maps the topography of her face, and she melts a little inside. His fingers flutter near her hair as if he can’t quite bring himself to touch her. <em>Beautiful in so many ways. I will show you someday.</em></p><p>She nods in acceptance. Someday contains a promise, but there is something more—a power she wields without fully comprehending, potent and enthralling. She leaves it unexamined. For now.</p><p>***</p><p>Rey falls deeper into him, the pull inexorable. There’s the First Order and his impatience with the Supreme Council and the decisions they’re advocating. He doesn’t enjoy his role as Supreme Leader, not like she thought he would. Not like he thought he would. The authority doesn’t satisfy and the burden is immense, more than one person should bear.</p><p>
  <em>It’s why I need you by my side.</em>
</p><p><em>It’s why democracy is stronger than tyranny</em>, she counters.</p><p><em>I’m not a tyrant</em>.</p><p>She arches an eyebrow even as she perceives his intentions, that however she may judge his methods, he means to exert the First Order’s strength for the good of the galaxy.</p><p>He struggles to maintain control and worries about the consequences if either Hux or Pryde succeed with a mutiny.</p><p>
  <em>Is that a valid concern?</em>
</p><p><em>Yes, </em>he says<em>, and the danger is incalculable. I suspect one or both are puppets of Palpatine, just as Snoke was.</em></p><p>
  <em>I would have guessed you serve at the Emperor’s pleasure.</em>
</p><p><em>Never. </em>His spirit hardens.<em> I will never serve another master. I intend to strike him down. </em></p><p><em>Not if I succeed first.</em> She visualizes them in a race that she must win to save Ben from himself, lest she be forced to confront an Emperor Ren.</p><p><em>But surely you see clearly now. You can no longer deny our destiny, Rey. </em>He plucks the vision from her mind to overlay with his, a perfect match, from the giant clawed throne down to her black suit and gloved hand resting on his knee.<em> We’ll kill him together and take the throne. You will reign as my Empress.</em></p><p>Nerves bunch like a rock in her stomach. <em>We’ll see.</em></p><p>***</p><p>She looks out through his eyes in the moment he offered his hand to her in Snoke’s audience chamber. He doesn’t wish to rule alone. He needs her help and partnership, her insight and light. He wants her—body, mind and soul. The wet that glistens in her lashes, the conflict that tears through her soul and trembles on her lips show him how close she is to succumbing.</p><p><em>I wanted to take your hand, </em>she says, overcome anew by the longing and struggle.<em> Ben’s hand. </em></p><p>The warm width of his hand clutches hers, and his breath pulses on her face. <em>You have.</em></p><p>The betrayal when she reaches for the lightsaber is a knife plunging into his heart. The pain connects to a thread of betrayal that descends down, down, down into the murky dark, an inky well that feeds his rage. No wonder he assaulted Crait like a madman.</p><p>A vast black chasm yawns beneath them, but Rey is unafraid. She will fall until she falls into his light, however far or faint it might be.</p><p>She could trace so many threads that compose the fabric of his being. It will take a lifetime to chart them all and even then perhaps she is too small to hold them. Can one person every fully hold another?</p><p><em>Only in a dyad</em>, he says.</p><p>This is the gift they have been given.</p><p>***</p><p>Rey’s body jerks in anguish at Snoke’s torture. Force-lighting forks up Ben’s limbs. He is a human transformer, electricity searing through his nervous system. She screams. For torture it is, abusive and vile.</p><p><em>No</em>, he whispers, <em>it made me strong</em>.</p><p>She sees his body as he sees it in the ‘fresher, scalding water running down his pink skin and raising an atlas of red and purple and silver scars, each logging its history in the formation of Kylo Ren. There is nothing erotic in his nakedness. His shoulders roll forward as if he could fold in on himself and fade into the floor. He doesn’t want to be seen. He doesn’t want to be touched.</p><p>She traces the scored flesh she gave him at Starkiller. It’s the only scar he wears with pride. Because she is permanently etched on his skin.</p><p>And now she will be permanently etched on his soul.</p><p>Still, shame thrives. That he cannot wear his scars with the arrogance Snoke demands, though he tries. That he cannot snuff the insufferable light. And a deeper shame—that he has not yet suffered enough for betraying those he loved most.</p><p><em>You are strong</em>, she whispers back.</p><p><em>You understand</em>, he says.</p><p>She does. But it is the strength of hate and it makes her unutterably sad. He hates himself. He hates what he’s become and what his choices have cost him. The weight of every life he’s ruined and every breath he’s extinguished oppresses him. This is his penance.</p><p>
  <em>I’m a monster.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re not.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t know everything I’ve done.</em>
</p><p><em>I do.</em> She may now know everything, because the fullness of his life—every memory, every word, every action—is laid bare.</p><p><em>Stop, Rey.</em> Terror mounts and he thrashes for the surface. <em>I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I won’t drag you down with me. </em></p><p>
  <em>You’re not a monster, Ben. You’re only a man who has suffered terrible things. Things no person should ever have to face. Things that led you to make terrible choices.</em>
</p><p><em>I won’t ruin the only good in my life. </em>He means her. Her hope, her joy, her light.</p><p><em>You won’t. I’m stronger than that. </em>She tries to tug him into an embrace, but he resists. She settles for resting her palm against his cheek and offering him words of hope from the stolen Jedi texts that once encouraged her. <em>“What is broken can be mended. What is wounded can be healed. What is lost can be forgiven.”</em></p><p>Clearly, it’s the wrong thing to say.</p><p>He remains as cold and implacable as stone.</p><p>***</p><p>As if he’s determined to test her resolve or prove her wrong, Ben seizes her arm and yanks her onto Starkiller’s catwalk facing Han. Kylo Ren’s cassock eddies in the updraft, a black flame swirling in the crimson glow.</p><p><em>No! </em>She twists her neck away<em>. I can’t bear it</em>.</p><p>
  <em>You wanted to unite our souls? Look well, Rey, for this is mine.</em>
</p><p><em>Why are you doing this? </em>She writhes against his iron grip. <em>I only want to help you.</em></p><p>
  <em>You don’t understand. There’s no hope for me. You will acknowledge what I am.</em>
</p><p>She feels how he wants to believe Han, how much he loves his dad. He wants to come home. He wants the comfort of his mother’s arms. He longs for his family with all his being. But it’s too late. Too late to return, to reconcile. Han can’t understand; he’s never understood. And Master Snoke promised Kylo this act will quell the light at last and quiet the raging conflict.</p><p>He ignites his saber before courage fails. His father falls. But the pain. He barely registers the bowcaster strike for the agony that splits his soul.</p><p>Rey staggers. She’d collapse to her knees were it not for the cowl. She buries her face in his broad chest and cries. For Han. For Ben. For all that is lost.</p><p>He rips into her mind with the harshness that belongs to Kylo Ren.<em> Now you see. Some things can’t be forgiven</em>.</p><p>But they haven’t come this far for him to hide behind a mask. She won’t let him.</p><p><em>No. You won’t discount his sacrifice, not when he gave everything for you.</em> She wrenches the memory from his control and pauses at Han’s tough, weathered palm against his cheek. <em>Feel the tenderness, Ben. See the love shining in his eyes. He forgave you even as he fell.</em></p><p>Her words splinter through him like beams of light fracturing the darkness.</p><p>
  <em>Dad.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you need a word of comfort after that, be reassured this is the bleakest chapter in the story. And the beautiful dark is yet to come. Big hugs and warmest gratitude to all you lovely readers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey falls through Ben’s years at the Jedi academy under the mentorship of Master Luke. His uncle is not the faded, careworn cynic she met on Ahch-To. He is calm yet driven, stern yet sarcastic, determined his order will not repeat past mistakes.</p>
<p>Ben—for he is still Ben then—longs to become the Jedi they have envisioned for him, not because it is his heart’s desire but because he longs to please. He longs to make them happy—Master Luke and his parents—for them to regard him not with fear but with pride. He longs for the cool dark and the dancing light, for the skulking shadows to disappear. For the voice to be exorcised from his head, yet he fears its disappearance in equal measure. For no one else understands. No one else tells him how good and pleasing he is.</p>
<p>And then the news breaks. Public and shocking. He is the spawn of Darth Vader, grandson of a Sith lord. Revulsion seizes him, but the revulsion nurtures a seed of identity. His parents should have told him. All his life Master Luke, champion of the Jedi, has lied to him, his own nephew. Betrayal spikes, cold and jagged, a spear of ice through his soul. They fear this is his future; perhaps they are right.</p>
<p>Even his shoulders, broad and sturdy as they have grown in his youth, cannot bear the weight of this legacy. He is so lonely, and the loneliness is a cancer eating his heart.</p>
<p>Rey weeps with him in the corner of his hut. The stones are unyielding below and cold at his back. Sobs shake his shoulders. His chin bows into his chest. Tears and snot soak his robes. Luke, Snoke—it doesn’t matter—both would chide him for this weakness and instruct him to master it. He is alone. Always alone.</p>
<p><em>You’re not alone.</em> She wraps a lean arm across the span of his shuddering back and clings tight. <em>I’m here. I am with you.</em></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey tumbles through Ben’s childhood, littered with fragments of betrayal. Dad and Uncle Chewie leave on the <em>Falcon</em> again and again. Mom leaves for her senatorial duties.</p>
<p>He is alone in the care of droids. He fills the solitude with calligraphy and flight sims, with sailing and experiments, with reading and studying—books upon books, more books than she ever dreamed existed in the galaxy.</p>
<p>He misses his parents. But when they are home, they are often distracted or— </p>
<p>Voices yell down a hallway and a door hisses shut. It’s his fault they’re shouting at each other. And Dad forgets to tuck him in. Mom forgets to kiss him good-night. Again.</p>
<p>Rey falls through the dark, deeper and deeper, impenetrable black and dense with his sorrows, his failures, his suffering.</p>
<p><em>Don’t you have any good memories? </em>She reaches for him, sightless in the absence of light, but her arms grapple with the void. <em>Show me something happy.</em></p>
<p>He scoffs, but a memory rises unbidden, a bubble of radiance through the darkness. Ben is flying across an expanse of water. Fierce wind blows his hair away from his temples and makes his eyes stream. His bare legs brace against the side of a craft.</p>
<p><em>Sailboat</em>, he supplies.</p>
<p>He holds a line in long, dexterous fingers and guides a wooden shaft with the other hand.</p>
<p><em>Tiller</em>, he says.</p>
<p>Water flashes by beneath him. They’re going to tip over. Fear closes her throat. She doesn’t know how to swim; she’s going to drown.</p>
<p>He laughs. <em>We’re not going to capsize. It’s just heeled over in the wind. Besides, I know how to swim.</em></p>
<p>He’s enjoying this?</p>
<p>He lifts his eyes past the bow to chart his course and his gaze lingers for a moment on a woman cuddled beneath a man’s arm. They are grinning at each other. Laughing. Happy.</p>
<p>A younger Leia and Han. Rey recognizes them even as Ben says, <em>Mom and Dad</em>. On holiday at the ocean to celebrate their anniversary and his birthday.</p>
<p>It’s not the sailing that illumines this moment but his parents’ love.</p>
<p><em>Ben</em>, she says with conviction, <em>we’ll find them all. We’ll dig for them like miners and string them like gemstones on a necklace. Every good memory. Every happy moment. Until the dark is riddled with them.</em></p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Then the quality of the dark changes from the smoky haze and inky black to cool shadows. Rey no longer falls.</p>
<p>She reclines at dusk in a private clearing ringed with towering trees. Winged creatures flit through the deepening sky, and the air is alive with the soothing sounds of things that love the night.</p>
<p>Already stars peep above one horizon. On the opposite, the sun’s last rays filter through the trees. A breeze in the leaves causes the light to leap and sparkle in the black silhouettes.</p>
<p>It is dark, but it is a peaceful dark. Calm and comfortable—and comforting. She could bask here forever.</p>
<p>Something like a sigh sounds from beside her. Ben’s substantial length stretches on his back in the spongy, fragrant grass, hands clasped behind his head.</p>
<p>And she knows—as she now may know all things about him—that this is his secret place, that long ago he appropriated it as the landscape of his soul, the Ben who is unbroken and whole. A place of cool shadows and dancing light. A place for rest and reflection. A place that has been closed to all others, even himself, until this moment.</p>
<p>She curls onto her side and studies his profile. <em>How could anyone fear so beautiful a darkness?</em></p>
<p>Even in the low light, she doesn’t miss how his mouth curves into a soft smile.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When the dark surrenders to dawn, the sun does not rise on Ben’s lush grass and verdant trees, but in a desert cavern, hewn over millennia and illumined by beams pouring through the fissured roof. Striated hues—tan and umber, sage and rust—eddy on the sandstone walls and mimic the light’s dance. Rey twirls through the shadowed pattern, arms thrown out to her sides, head thrown back to the sun. Her smile rivals its brilliance.</p>
<p><em>You know what this place is</em>, Ben says.</p>
<p>It’s her secret place that she discovered as a child and where she returned whenever she could, a place where she could dream dreams, where the light kissed her very soul, where she could forget she was alone on Jakku. A place where hope dusted the air and mingled with her breath.</p>
<p>But this time, he’s with her. In her. Looking out through her eyes.</p>
<p><em>It’s a vergence</em>, he says. <em>The Force was calling to you even then</em>.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey’s soles burn on a salt flat, scorching at midday and gritty with endless sand. She stumbles back. Whatever memory this belongs to, she shies away.</p>
<p><em>You remember more than you think</em>. <em>Search your memories, </em>Ben urges<em>. Remember them. See them.</em></p>
<p>She is small, just a girl. Light filters through the loose weave of a tent panel handmade by wrinkled villagers on their ancient looms. Her mother squats and hugs her with wide and frightened eyes. Her hair is brown, her face is kind, and her robes are blue.</p>
<p>“Rey, my love, be brave.”</p>
<p>Her little heart is breaking. She’s afraid. She doesn’t understand.</p>
<p>“You’ll be safe here,” her father says. “I promise.” Then why does worry line his brow?</p>
<p>The lumbering Crolute lugs her away as their ship launches. Rey screams. If she screams loud enough or long enough, her parents will return or Plutt will release her or the nightmare will end. Why? Why are they leaving? How could they abandon her?</p>
<p><em>Shh.</em> Ben murmurs in her mind as his arms move, a little timid at first, to enfold her in a haven of comfort. <em>You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.</em></p>
<p>She takes a breath. <em>They never came back.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>They couldn’t. Your parents were no one because they chose to be. To protect you.</em>
</p>
<p>He knows more. She can see it in him like a ribbon of thought fluttering just beyond reach, what he meant to tell her back on Kijimi. She could grasp it. If she wanted.</p>
<p><em>I know who you are.</em> He snags the ribbon and offers it to her. <em>I know the rest of your story.</em></p>
<p>The ribbon uncoils and she witnesses the Emperor’s bounty hunter—Ochi—execute her mother and father because they refuse to reveal her location. Her parents died on the same ship that carried her from Pasaana at the hand of the same Sith dagger that drew her to Ren’s quarters.</p>
<p>Rey waits for the agony of loss to consume her all over again, she waits for the blinding anger, but they never come. Her emotions are a glassy pool. Is she only numbed by the horror? Is it disloyal to be relieved that she finally knows what happened, that her parents sacrificed themselves to protect her, that they must have loved her after all?</p>
<p><em>You have grieved for them your entire life, </em>Ben says<em>. They would be grateful you are safe. They would be proud of who you’ve become.</em></p>
<p>Her parents didn't abandon her; the Emperor stole them. <em>But why? Why was the Emperor searching for me? Why would he want to kill a child?</em></p>
<p><em>Rey, listen to me.</em> Ben grasps her shoulders and leans down until he’s square in her gaze, his own intense and earnest. <em>When I learned Vader was my grandfather, it turned my world upside down. I was already wrestling the dark and Snoke used it to set my course. But if someone who loved me had walked with me, had helped me see I still had a choice, maybe my life would have been different. Whatever you face, you do not face it alone. Not like I did. I’m here. I will walk this path with you.</em></p>
<p>She can read his intent. She knows he's trying to prepare her for some further disclosure.<em> Just tell me, Ben.</em></p>
<p><em>Your father was Palpatine’s son. You are his granddaughter. You have his power, which means you are a threat he must eliminate. </em>Even as he speaks, she catches the resonance of his memories: the prowling evil of Exegol, a primate-like creature soldering Kylo’s helmet, the hooded form with its skeletal hands and voice like scraping thunder.</p>
<p>But there’s something else, something in Kylo Ren’s exchange with the Emperor that firms his resolve—</p>
<p><em>He sent you to kill me! </em>The thought distresses more than the revelation that Palpatine is her grandfather and killed her parents. Rey wrenches from his hold, but there’s no escape when Ben indwells her.</p>
<p><em>He did</em>, <em>but I would never hurt you—I could never—</em>  The possibility of her death nearly unhinges him. To lift his hand against her is to turn it on himself. They will never again battle each other as they once did. Already the merger of their minds and the fusion of their souls is transforming her, changing her perspective.</p>
<p>Rey finds that she can receive Ben’s news with the grace it’s offered. Her life has been defined by the burning question of who she is. Now she knows. The Emperor may be her grandfather. He may have ordered her assassination and succeeded with her parents. He may have bestowed his genes and his abilities on her, but she will never be a Palpatine. Not since she took Ben’s hand and discovered the beautiful dark.</p>
<p>The mystery unravels, and she perceives with clarity at last. In Ahch-To’s mirror-dark cave two shadowed figures coalesce into one, fog dissipates from the opaque wall, and she sees only herself. Because <em>she</em> is the dyad. Two that are one. This is her identity. This is what defines her. And no power in the galaxy can change it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope reading this story brings you as much enjoyment as sharing it brings me. &lt;3 Thank you for the encouragement of your kudos and comments and bookmarks. Wherever you are in the world, have a beautiful weekend! I plan to post again on Monday, RL willing. We're almost to the heart of the dyad...almost.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Rise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey rises through the gleaming loneliness of her childhood and youth as a scavenger on Jakku. Ben traces the tally marks on her AT-AT and logs her hours in the sims. He dons her Rebel helmet and hugs her homemade doll. Necessity teaches him to fight. He dangles with her from a rope in the bowels of a wrecked destroyer, patches her leg where a gash threatens infection, swallows the tasteless portions.</p><p><em>No wonder you eat like a feral animal</em>, he says.</p><p>She grins.</p><p>He thrills at the wind in her hair as she skims across the sands on her speeder’s maiden voyage. He marvels at a desert flower’s transient splendor. He nurses a broken-winged bird and cries with happiness when it takes flight. He shares her last round of bread with a hungry boy and feeds her empty stomach on the satisfaction of giving. He soaks in the rust of sunset, the blush of sunrise, the savagery of a sand storm.</p><p>Joy breaks through.</p><p><em>How do you do it</em>, he says, <em>how did you retain your goodness and compassion? How did this life not break you?</em></p><p><em>Hope</em>, she answers.</p><p>Hope that snuggles her close through the cold and lonely nights, that lights her way and guides her steps on the darkest path. And her hopes were not unfounded for they are answered here. In their dyad. In him.</p><p>***</p><p>They rise, up and up, through their intertwined destinies. Ben chases the thread of her encounters with his parents. He is starved for the sight of them, for their affection, even mediated as it is through her.</p><p>Still, he ridicules her admiration for Han. <em>Hero-worship.</em></p><p>
  <em>He was a hero, even if you refuse to acknowledge it.</em>
</p><p><em>He was my dad and I loved him, but he was a smuggler and a scoundrel. And he left us. </em>The ache that cleaves his heart is the same one Rey branded into every scratch on her AT-AT. The ache of abandonment.</p><p><em>He came back. He came for Leia, </em>she counters.<em> And he came for you.</em></p><p><em>That he did. </em>His acknowledgement, new and reluctant though it is, lessens the ache. But much remains to forgive and be forgiven; they cannot heal a lifetime of wounds in a single night.</p><p><em>You should have accepted that job with Han,</em> Ben says. <em>I can see how much he liked you. You would have enjoyed crewing with him.</em></p><p>Rey receives his peace offering for what it is. Maybe she would have, if she hadn’t been abducted by a man in a mask.</p><p>Their memories merge in the moment they met under Takodana’s jade canopy.</p><p>Her fear in fleeing from him.</p><p>His focus on finding Skywalker’s map.</p><p>Her courage in facing him.</p><p>His fascination with her in the Force.</p><p>Her body limp in his arms.</p><p><em>I’m sorry, </em>he says. His fingertips ghost across her cheek, along her jaw, as if by the delicacy of his touch he could undo all that came after. <em>So sorry for all the ways I’ve hurt you.</em></p><p><em>I forgive you. </em>She forgave him when she chose their dyad. She forgave him even as she fell.</p><p>***</p><p>Ben recoils and turns aside as Rey first meets his mom after Starkiller, as she holds a woman she knows only by reputation and through the Force, as they commune in their grief over Han’s death.</p><p><em>Wait</em>. Rey pulls him onto Ajan Kloss before she leaves on her present mission, pulls him into her farewell with Leia.</p><p>He drinks in his mother like a pilgrim drinking in a holy site. He hasn’t seen her for nearly a decade. <em>She’s aged so much. She looks almost frail</em>.</p><p><em>She’s been through a lot.</em> They both know Rey refers to her son’s fall, her husband’s murder, her brother’s sacrifice, the Resistance’s decimation. And all at Kylo Ren’s hands.</p><p><em>Leia was on the bridge when the </em>Raddus<em> was hit, </em>Rey adds.<em> Vacuum nearly killed her, but she’s stronger than you think.</em></p><p>Rey is transported to a TIE fighter’s cockpit, gloved finger hovering over the trigger. The target is locked, but Kylo senses his mother. He repels the wave of love she projects across the Force, but he won’t fire on her. Not after Han. He wouldn’t survive it. Not this time. A wingman’s shot blasts her ship and agony rends his heart. All over again.</p><p><em>But you didn’t do it. </em>Rey tows him back into Leia’s farewell embrace.<em> She survived. And she loves you. She’s never given up hope. Never.</em></p><p>Ben sinks within his mother’s arms, draws from her strength of spirit, relishes her fingers stroking the back of Rey’s head. Accepts the flow of confidence, reassurance, and comfort in the Force.</p><p>Her beloved voice is husky and humid in his ear. “Never be afraid of who you are.”</p><p>Her words tunnel straight to his heart and spread through him with the light of life, nurturing and strengthening, a balm to his battered soul and his invitation home, however belated they may be.</p><p><em>If only she had said that to me. </em>He swallows down regret. <em>I don’t know if I would have believed her, but she was too afraid of who I was.</em></p><p>Rey sees this moment gilded in the Force and voices the question that shines in the air. <em>Who are you, Ben?</em></p><p>He blinks and stares. Images from his life flash through his mind, through Rey’s. He is born his mother’s joy and father’s pride. He’s Ben Solo, the cool dark and dancing light. He’s a frightened boy, haunted by voices from the shadows. He is his uncle’s padawan, a lonely youth, a reluctant Jedi. He’s a hypocrite and a failure. He is Vader’s grandson, the scion of a legacy. He is Snoke’s apprentice. He’s Kylo Ren. The First Order’s enforcer, the bane of the galaxy. He’s Supreme Leader. He is the dark made flesh—and the unconquerable light. He is a dyad in the Force.</p><p>Who is he?</p><p><em>I am yours</em>, he says.</p><p>Because all that he is, all that has shaped him, every decision for good or evil, every name to which he has answered, every identity he has claimed, his light and his dark, all of it belongs to their dyad. To her.</p><p>***</p><p>They are in the interrogation room on Starkiller, when their bond awakens and the door cracks open on the dyad. Rey punches into his mind, artless and graceless, and leaves them both stunned. The mildest foretaste to what they are forging now. Rey sees the thread that joined them then and every encounter since adding another and another.</p><p>She sees it in every poignant look, in every weighted word, in every trembling touch.</p><p>In every saber clash, in every emotion wrought, in every memory shared.</p><p>Every interaction is a shuttle on the loom, weaving together the fabric of their being, the light threads and the dark, in a tapestry of surpassing beauty. And they <em>have</em> turned, both of them, neither to the light nor to the dark as they expected, but to each other.</p><p>Ben is right. There’s no going back. They are now and forever indissolubly joined.</p><p>He tries to shield his disappointment as the realization bursts upon her, but he cannot hide. He’s stricken that she didn’t trust him, that she didn’t choose with open eyes, even though he tried to warn her. That he has given everything, and there is inequity in the wanting.</p><p><em>I was right to fear</em>. Disillusionment rolls over him in a black fog. <em>You do regret me</em>.</p><p><em>Ben, no—</em>  She lifts her chin, a defiant warrior. <em>Don’t you dare allow your fears to speak for me. I am as bare to you as you are to me. Look! See the truth. I do want you. I do choose you. </em>Her chin dips and she can’t help a rueful smile.<em> But maybe it’s just the slightest bit overwhelming?</em></p><p>In a blink and a breath, at the speed of thought, he knows her mind as if it were his own. Because it is.</p><p><em>Oh, my sweet, </em>he says.<em> Come here.</em></p><p>She is with him and in him just as he is in her. In his heart as truly as she is in his arms. </p><p>His large and gentle hands cradle her most fragile places. This is trust. And he regards her with such tenderness that every atom in her being blazes with light.</p><p>***</p><p>They inhabit a shared place that exists neither in their minds nor on any plane in the galaxy. If it exists at all, it is somewhere in the Force and even then it is only in them as one.</p><p><em>The heart of a dyad</em>, he voices.</p><p>Hand in hand, they tread the inky vault of space among the burning stars.</p><p><em>Skywalkers</em>, she says with a trace of irony.</p><p>He laughs. <em>I imagine its origin was much more mundane.</em></p><p>
  <em>Or maybe it has always pointed to us.</em>
</p><p>Radiant nebulae in every color conceivable swirl at their fingertips.</p><p>Ben’s eyes glint and his thoughts flutter with some tantalizing idea. There are echoes of Han in the tilt of his head and the crookedness of his smile.</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry. I shouldn't compare—</em>
</p><p><em>I don’t mind. I’ve been called worse,</em> he says with a dry chuckle. <em>When I was a boy, I would have given anything to be like my dad.</em></p><p>Her heart twinges, but it is the twinge of broken bones mending.</p><p>His hand catches hers, he swings her around to settle the other at her back, and he nudges her into movement.</p><p><em>What are you doing?</em> She asks.</p><p>
  <em>Dancing. </em>
</p><p>Memories crowd into her:</p><p>A boy glides around a glittering ballroom in his mother’s arms. Her eyes are darker than the midnight shimmersilk that swishes around her legs and more radiant than the gems that dot her hair.</p><p>Han spins his wife into a riotous jig. Leia objects but tips her head back in laughter and dances anyway.</p><p>Rey looks through Ben’s memory and sees herself in the company of friends, music and moonlight on Ajan Kloss. Her eyes are closed and she sways alone, lost to the melody and oblivious to those dancing around her.</p><p><em>How do you remember this? </em>Rey asks. <em>You weren’t even there.</em></p><p>Jealousy and longing fight for ascendancy as he peers through their bond like a voyeur.</p><p>The recollection weaves with her perspective. She stops swaying to scan the rainforest’s perimeter. Is he there in the shadows where moonlight doesn’t penetrate? She senses his presence, as if the music sang him into being, heavy with the same longing that she feels for him. But surely she’s only imbibed too much fireberry wine.</p><p>Ben sighs. <em>You dreamed of me even then? </em></p><p>She can’t deny it any more than she can chide him for spying. <em>Even then.</em></p><p><em>Dance with me, Rey.</em> His soul-deep joy billows into her, explodes in color around them like the festival plumes of Pasaana.</p><p>Her feet tangle in his. She may access his expertise with the art, but her limbs don’t share his muscle memory. <em>I don’t know what I’m doing.</em></p><p><em>You’re perfect.</em> He pushes her away, never releasing her hand, and twirls her back. Around and around, and always coming home to his arms.<em> Just follow me.</em></p><p>She never knew it could be like this, that the union of their souls and minds and spirits would be a dance of wonder and beauty. They spin and whirl through darkness and light. They circle the stars, carried on currents of love.</p><p>Love.</p><p>At that word, she stills in his arms. They halt together. She plumbs the deep gold of his eyes, both darker and brighter in this liminal space. It’s like unearthing treasure, like finding a cache long-hidden, a prize of inestimable value at last brought from its caverned vault into the light. The secret and the promise.</p><p>The answer.</p><p><em>Love is the union at the heart of a dyad</em>, she says.</p><p><em>It is</em>, he says with no less awe.</p><p>And she sees—they see—the truth, for there is no stronger bond, no greater power in the universe. Love that’s patient and gentle, that gives and forgives. Love that believes and hopes and trusts. Love that endures. That never fails. The love that’s changed them. The love they share. They forged this. They threw the bond wide-open, wove the contrasting threads, descended to the beautiful dark—and this—this is what lies at the heart. This is the root of it all.</p><p>Love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, lovely ones, for reading and sharing your thoughts and for your patience with this extended reflection on the formation of a Force-dyad (or one possible variation anyway). Next chapter is part 1 of the conclusion--can't believe we're nearing the end! And credit where credit is due: The final paragraph is adapted from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, best definition of love I've ever read (regardless of religious affiliation).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Dyad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rey opens her eyes to Kylo Ren’s suite, except they’re not standing in the middle of the chamber anymore.</p><p>His cowl no longer binds them. That, at least, is solved. The heavy black fabric snuggles her within its folds, a cushion beneath and warmth behind where she sits on the shiny white tiles, back pressed against the wall. Ben’s head nestles in her lap. He’s curled onto his side, facing away from her. Her fingers comb through the raven length of his hair.</p><p>No chrono is visible to tell her how much time has elapsed since she was trapped here. If she were inclined to escape, this would be the moment.</p><p>His eyelashes flutter up. Alarm and betrayal well within him.</p><p>“You’ll have to get used to it,” she says, “if you’re going to share my every passing thought.”</p><p>“Don’t go.” His words are borne on a whispered plea and a vague flurry of sentiment. He hasn’t formulated a plan. He just wants her with him. He likes who he is in her presence. He fears who he’ll be without her.</p><p>“But you’re not going to be without me. Not ever again. Where you are, I am. And where I am, you are.” She focuses on the strands slipping through her hand, thick and the slightest bit coarse. The gentle glide of her nails across his scalp calms him in a way that circles back and comforts her. How can it be that touching him feels as natural and right as the sun rising, as if she has always known the cadence of his heart, the contents of his mind, the currents of his soul? She reels from the paradox.</p><p>The bond is gone. Maybe dissolved or absorbed in the dyad—the particulars don’t really matter. Where she used to fight the cord that tethered them across time and space, now there is only Ben, as essential as her breath, as inseparable and intangible as her soul. They are no longer dependent on the Force to open their connection because nothing divides them. They are one.</p><p>“I know.” A slow smile pulls at his lips, and the last of his unease dissipates. <em>I am in you, and you are in me.</em></p><p>“I don’t want to leave.” She wants to stay right where she is, to bask in the miracle and delve the mystery. “But I can’t stay. You know that. There’s no place for me here.”</p><p>“I can’t go with you,” he says. “Not yet.”</p><p>That’s true. She understands now. The vacuum that would be left in the absence of his leadership is far more dangerous than any benefit to his defection. If he wanted to defect, which he doesn’t. He wants to make amends wherever possible and discharge his responsibilities as Supreme Leader. He is his mother’s son, after all. He will use his authority for good; he owes far more than that to the galaxy. And he wants to make Rey proud.</p><p>“I am.” She twines his hair around her fingers. Already, he has engaged the toughest battle—the war within himself—and emerged victorious.</p><p>He rolls onto his back, head resting on her thighs, and stares up. “It’s going to take a lot of work to adjust course. Even then, the First Order is like a giant oceangoing vessel that turns with painful sloth.”</p><p>She traces the ridge of his brow, the long plane of his cheek, the shell of one prominent ear. From her angle bent over his round and admiring eyes, he appears almost boyish. She taps a mole near the crease of his mouth.<em> Who uses ‘sloth’ in normal conversation? You sound like an old Jedi text.</em></p><p>His lips quirk to one side, an understated expression of the delight that dances from him into her. He likes being teased. How will she ever keep her mind on task when she only wants to lose herself in him?</p><p><em>The slothful ship?</em> He prompts.</p><p><em>Right.</em> And how will her heart ever bear such fullness?</p><p>The course ahead will require time and patience, with him at the helm and her advising the Resistance. Leia is resilient and wise. She’ll listen. And Poe and Finn will come around. Eventually. Rey hopes. She doesn’t even want to contemplate the conversations she’ll need to brave with each of them.</p><p>Ben snorts at her speculations.</p><p>But between them—between her and Ben—they’ll forge an accord among the worlds like they forged the union of their souls. Maybe this is what the Force was trying to accomplish through them all along. The dyad is not only a gift to each other but to the entire galaxy. The kernel of peace hides in the space between their hearts, which now beat as one. Love is the union at the heart of a dyad. Love is balance in the Force, at once fierce and gentle, triumphant and yielding, possessive and sacrificial.</p><p>Rey shakes herself from their shared reverie. It starts with eliminating the threat at Exegol, and the clock is counting down. “There’s no time, Ben. We need to act.”</p><p>“About that—I have an idea.”</p><p>In an instant she grasps his conception of wielding their united power—magnified as it is within the full-fledged dyad—as well as his latent fear about the disaster that might have resulted had they attempted to face Palpatine in the strength of their nascent bond alone.</p><p>***</p><p>“This is good,” Rey slurs around a mouthful of smoked fish and dressed greens. What an extravagance to have fresh produce while cruising space. One of the perks to being Supreme Leader, she supposes.</p><p>“Feeding you breakfast is the least I could do. I didn’t want to listen to your stomach growl all the way to Kef Bir.”</p><p>“Ah, but you forget your reasons are transparent to me now, your Supreme-ness.” She toes at his boot under the table in his private dining nook. It’s all very domestic. “You wanted an excuse to keep me longer, and you knew I couldn’t say no to food.”</p><p>He angles a lopsided grin and doesn’t bother to rally a defense.</p><p>She laughs and then quiets as a childhood memory spills from his past.</p><p>
  <em>Leia is young, her chestnut hair woven in elaborate braids. She places her knife on the rim of her plate and leans forward. “Ben, dear, please chew with your mouth closed and wait to speak until after you’ve swallowed.”</em>
</p><p>The instruction is kind, a mother training her small son in proper etiquette. Rey could be offended, but she’s not. There’s no judgment in the memory. She blinks back unexpected moisture. “I never had anyone to teach me.”</p><p>“Plenty more where that came from. Take or leave as much as you wish.” Ben sips his caf with a wry smile. <em>I love you just the way you are</em>.</p><p>Rey presses the cool glass of muja juice to her hot cheek before replacing it on the table. He loves her. She doesn’t understand why she’s flustered or even how to describe the feeling—the depths at which she knows him and the love she has for him now juxtaposed with how swiftly everything changed—it’s dizzying.</p><p>“I know,” he says, “I feel it too.” And he does, as he has before, without her needing to find words.</p><p>She selects a pastry, sinks her teeth into the flaky crust, and moans over the warm, gooey filling. “Oh my stars, what <em>is</em> this?”</p><p>“Pain au chocolat.”</p><p>The manner in which he watches her eat prompts her to offer the pastry to him. “Want a bite?”</p><p>He shakes his head but leans forward anyway. His thumb hesitates near her mouth, and she sees through his eyes the smear of filling that mars her face. He swipes it clean—and sucks the chocolate from his fingertip. Her stomach somersaults; his does too. He didn't mean to be suggestive. </p><p>He clears his throat and the tension eases. “When we—when we were in the heart of the dyad, why did you call us ‘Skywalkers?’”</p><p>“Oh, I—I guess—we were walking among the stars is all.” But it was more than that and they both know it. She may have remarked in jest, but those moments were gravid with purpose, with a fulfillment in the Force beyond their finite lives. They were made for this.</p><p>He reaches for her hand across the table, and she prickles with his sudden onset of nerves. “Rey, I don’t have much to offer that you would value, but I’m rich in names—Skywalker, Organa, Solo. Ren, I suppose. You’re welcome to any or all of them.” He ducks his head. “If you want.”</p><p>Anticipation quivers through her. Yes, she wants. This—this is the moment. The consummation. All those years wondering who she was, all those years answering ‘just Rey.’ It wasn’t so she could be a Palpatine, but so she could find her dyad, so she could be a—</p><p>“Solo,” she says and squeezes his hand in return, “because we are one.”</p><p>“Rey Solo.” He rolls the name around his mouth, testing the sound.</p><p>Hearing it on his tongue does funny things to her insides, makes her go all jittery and soft.</p><p>He senses his effect and his eyes gleam. “Just be warned. If my mother catches wind, she’s going to press a ring on you—probably something from Alderaanian royalty—and lecture you that her oaf of a son can’t do anything right.”</p><p>Alderaanian royalty? Rey raises her eyebrows, but the feeling inside settles into quiet elation. <em>Rey Solo. </em>His name is the best gift, better than any ring, better than royalty. “Well, <em>I</em> think you’ve done better than all right.”</p><p>His satisfaction with pleasing her rebounds between them. He will always honor her. He will always seek her best and highest good. He will always comfort and protect and defend her. And she pledges the same to him.</p><p>She beams into his shining face and savors their unspoken vows. This is what it means to love and be loved.</p><p>***</p><p>Surviving on Jakku didn’t afford Rey time to fantasize about her future, but she’s spent enough hours with the Resistance over the past year to know what family names and rings imply for human culture. “Does this—does this mean we’re married now?”</p><p>Ben chokes on his salad, and she catches his surprise. <em>Married? Most girls dream about a proposal first.</em></p><p>Her cheeks flame with her ignorance. <em>Ben, I didn’t mean—</em></p><p>“No, my sweet. Of course you didn’t know.” He levels that soft and tender look of which she will never tire, not even when the newness dims. “I suppose it’s a lesson to us both. Even though we <em>may</em> know all things about each other, it doesn’t necessarily mean that we do.” He sits back and muses. “But it’s a good question. Engagement is an agreement to marry. Marriage is an exchange of vows in lifelong union. Which do you think better suits what we’ve done in the dyad?”</p><p>The question floats on the low thrum of his chambers.</p><p>Rey barely resists rolling her eyes because, <em>Of course that means we’re married</em>.</p><p>But he’s conflicted. She maps the shape of his hopes and dreams, his ambivalence over the turbulence of his parents’ marriage, and an incongruous swell of anxiety.</p><p>“Unless you’d rather not?” She’s as uncertain how to interpret his darker emotions as he is.</p><p>“No, I do—it’s just—” He sighs. “What we did today, forging the dyad into its fullness, I don’t know how long it would have taken us to come around to each other or for our bond to mature to this point, but we definitely shortened the process.”</p><p>That’s the understatement of the millennium, considering their history. She’d been thieving in his quarters and casting aspersions on his cloak, not to mention his character, mere hours ago.</p><p>“Our souls are knit into one, our minds are knit into one”—Ben swallows with the familiar roll of his throat that signals his discomfort—“all that remains is to knit our bodies into one.”</p><p>“But how would that work?” She grimaces as her imagination conjures a series of increasingly terrifying possibilities.</p><p>“Rey…” There’s a flash of embarrassment and fleeting impressions: his mouth on her, her hands on him, a pale mess of tangled limbs, of tender sighs and light and heat, of sated flesh and souls replete.</p><p>Only a flash but long enough for her pulse to race and breath to quicken, every sense afire. To match his cheeks and neck, which have gone crimson.</p><p>Long enough for her to recall that, as it does in their dyad, mystery awaits in the heart of marriage—passion and surrender, worship and ecstasy.</p><p>Long enough for her to understand the hurdle he must overcome from his lifetime of training in celibate orders. It’s not that he fears sex; he hungers for her as much as she does for him, perhaps more. But he has lived by strict codes and, even if he never broke this one, violations are snarled with memories of punishment. This is the source of his anxiety. It will take time to persuade himself the rules have changed. Time to heal.</p><p><em>Please</em>, he whispers into her soul. <em>In this, at least, could we maybe not rush?</em></p><p><em>Like we rushed into everything else? </em>The tug of humor between them is answer enough. How could she love him if she didn’t honor his vulnerability and respect his needs? She dimples at him, bright and sure. This too will flower in its turn. “I love you, Ben Solo.”</p><p>He rotates her arm and presses his lips to the delicate veins inside her wrist. Light and lingering and to be cherished. A promise sealed. Rey closes her eyes and follows the giddy warmth as it flares from her veins through her heart. Through their dyad. Through him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I do hope you liked this. &lt;3  I'd send you some pain au chocolat if I could. (Surely it's canon SW, lol. How could they live without?!) All my stories have happy ends, though this isn't quite the end--a little more sweetness plus something like an epilogue still to come on Friday...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their weapons are strewn across the gleaming tiles, wreckage from their futile, though not unfruitful, battle with Ben’s cowl. It’s time to go. Palpatine will not wait and they dare not delay any longer. Rey straps her holster around her thigh as Ben tugs on his doublet and fastens the front. He must have discarded it sometime when they were immersed in one another. She likes him better in the relaxed sweater anyway.</p>
<p>His mouth twitches in amusement. <em>I’ll keep that in mind.</em></p>
<p>Their lightsabers lie near her feet. She clips hers to her belt and reaches for Ben’s to pass it to him, but when her fingers close around the hilt, the Force shrieks. Tortured voices batter her ears. Fear snarls at her heels. And death coils like a viper ready to strike.</p>
<p>Ben’s head snaps up.</p>
<p>She gasps in shock and the quillioned saber tumbles from her grip.</p>
<p>He telekinetically calls it into his palm before it hits the floor.</p>
<p>She’s touched his saber before, but it never screamed like that.</p>
<p>“We’re one now,” he says. “The crystal responds to you as it does to me.”</p>
<p>Tears compress the back of her throat. Such agony. “How do you bear it?”</p>
<p>“Bleeding the crystal was an early step in Snoke’s training. It was bonded to me, but I betrayed it—bent it to my will and forced it to the dark side. Its torment became my strength.” Ben contemplates the weapon and traces a gloved finger along the exposed wire in the hilt, but for her sake he avoids revisiting the memory.</p>
<p>Still, the insidious dark threads through the dyad—and the pain—the pain nauseates. It tastes like metal in her mouth, how he embraces the anguish, how it flows through him with long habit, with a control that—even though he’s welcomed the light—still comes as easily as breathing.</p>
<p>Queasiness climbs and spots her vision. She’s going to retch.</p>
<p>He rests his lightsaber on the black plinth with more consideration than it deserves. Relief inflates her lungs the instant he lifts his hand.</p>
<p>She observes in silence as he wages an internal debate. He dare not wield it in combat—not with how it disables her. He should teach her to channel the pain, but though she can glean the necessary knowledge from his experience, it will take more practice than they have time.</p>
<p>Rey recoils from even the suggestion.</p>
<p><em>Not every skill that arises in the dark side should be rejected</em>, he voices into her mind. <em>Not all that is dark is evil.</em></p>
<p><em>That may be true.</em> She knows he’s right. <em>But your crystal is suffering.</em></p>
<p>His lips purse then tug down. He could cast his lightsaber out an airlock or destroy it. But his heart spasms—because this is the crystal that sang to him as a boy, its high, clear notes a dazzling siren in the Force. Cracked and bleeding or not, it’s been his companion and partner for decades. For him to throw it away as if it means nothing—</p>
<p>“You could heal it,” she suggests. “Or maybe we could together.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” he concedes. He’s never had much success with healing anything.</p>
<p><em>But I have.</em> On impulse Rey thrusts the Skywalker blade toward him. “Here. You need a lightsaber and this belongs to you.”</p>
<p>“What about you?” He doesn’t reach to accept. “It belongs to you as much as it does to me.” How ironic that they should argue in favor of the other when they had fought over its possession on Takodana and wrenched it in half on the <em>Supremacy</em>.</p>
<p>“I was only its caretaker for a little while. And I—I have my own crystal, actually.” Crystals. She visualizes the two white gems as she laid them out beside the necessary components to craft her saberstaff under Master Leia’s tutelage. Meditation was all that remained. It would not have taken long to assemble and discover the color her blades would burn. Then fear cast its cruel shadow and stopped her. Fear of the sinister visions, of the dark power burgeoning in her veins. Fear that she was not worthy to be a Jedi.</p>
<p>But those shadows have fled from the love at the heart of their dyad. Her darkness has found its home, and she no longer fears.  </p>
<p>Ben’s knuckles round as he grasps the legacy saber. The oversized hilt suits his oversized hand far better than it ever did hers. For a moment, the lightsaber is held between them, and Rey looks out through youthful eyes, senses a boy’s spirit soar as his blade burns blue for the first time. Maybe it’s Ben. Maybe it’s his grandfather.</p>
<p>“Next time”—Ben’s eyes shine with vicarious excitement—“it will be you.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rey slings her satchel over one shoulder. She still has the Sith dagger, which she’ll use to recover the wayfinder from the defunct Death Star before rendezvousing with Finn and Poe—assuming they stick to the original plan.</p>
<p>Ben picks up his limp cloak and holds it at arm’s length. “I’m not entirely sure I want to wear this again.”</p>
<p>She smirks at him.</p>
<p>“Traitor,” he says. “You’re positively glowing with affection for it.”</p>
<p>His eyes narrow as he riffles through her memories like scanning a databank—until he relives her initial encounter with his cowl. His eyebrows crest in his forehead. “You tried it on because you wanted <em>a hug from Ben Solo?</em>” His laugh is so unexpected, so free and unforced, that it feels like bubbles of light rising from an undersea fissure. “There are easier ways, I assure you.”</p>
<p>“What can I say? It worked, didn’t it?” Warmth pinks her cheeks and she shrugs. “And we do have your cowl to thank for pushing us into the dyad.” <em>For this union beyond all imagining</em>. “If I were you, I’d stay in its good graces. You never know, it could be an asset in a fight.”</p>
<p>“Or a liability.” Ben harrumphs and flings the cloak across the breadth of his shoulders. “I hope I don’t regret this.”</p>
<p>He looks like Kylo Ren again, towering black and menacing. Except for the Skywalker lightsaber holstered at his waist and how the Force radiates from him. His light doesn’t blaze; it dances. Like sunset rendered through trees at twilight.</p>
<p>Rey collects her quarterstaff and glances around the room where her life upended. Where she found treasure after all, not in the alcoves and compartments, but in the arms of a man she once thought her enemy. Where she found love and belonging. Where she found herself in the dyad.</p>
<p>Her gaze snags on the smattering of ashes, all that remains of Vader. Maybe she should apologize for ruining the relic, knowing how much it meant to Ren, how much time he spent seeking his grandfather’s voice, but she can’t be sorry that it’s destroyed.</p>
<p>“Let the past die.” Ben huffs and taps the weapon at his belt, a far better legacy. <em>I suspect Anakin would approve. </em>He picks up Kylo Ren’s mask, tucks it under his arm, and moves to stand before her. Confidence purrs in him—but not conflict, conspicuous by its absence. He extends his free hand toward the stairs that lead to the exit. “Ready?”</p>
<p>Is she ready? They step into this new future side by side. Is she naïve to believe that the most difficult part is past? No matter what challenges intersect the path ahead—and she does not doubt there will be challenges, within and without—from this day forward they face them together. They face them as one. He said that to her once, in the tense elevator ride to Snoke’s throne room, that he had seen their future when they touched fingers in her hut on Ahch-To, that she would stand with him when the moment came. Was this what he foresaw?</p>
<p>“Not quite,” he answers her thoughts. He doesn’t explain, only retrieves the memory.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dark. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Darkness reigns as far as eye may pierce, unbroken except by a red glow nearby. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A distant, rhythmic roar pulsates in his bones, primal and fierce. He braces against the ground that shifts beneath his boots. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The air is sharp, almost biting in his nostrils, but his attention centers on the woman in his arms, so near he feels her heart beating with his. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They are clad in black from head to toe.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Her features are drawn in charcoal, barely discernible until she tilts her face and pale silver limns the high mounds of her cheeks. Though her eyes remain shadowed, he feels the devotion in her gaze. Whatever else she may be, she is beloved. And whatever tomorrow holds, they will stand together to meet it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His mouth finds hers in the dark, reduced sight heightening touch and taste. Her lips are smooth as a ripe plum, and his senses spin with their intimate dance. She is rare wine, every sip to be savored, complex and layered. </em>
</p>
<p>When the vision ends, the sensation of their kiss lingers in Rey’s body as a glorious intoxication. Distantly, she registers the significance of him foreseeing <em>a kiss. </em>Her eyelids lift and all she can think is how full and beautiful his mouth. His longing keeps pace with hers. How easy it would be—  She halts mid-thought. Not now, not knowing him as she does, not after giving her word.</p>
<p><em>It’s okay</em>, he murmurs into her mind. He fears his voice would quaver if he spoke aloud.</p>
<p>Her burden of satchel, bandolier, bowcaster and staff make it a little awkward, but Rey shuffles forward. Ben’s expressive face is shuttered, his muscled form still and taut. He would be unreadable, were it not for those soulful eyes and the fact that she vibrates with the pounding of his pulse, the swirl of anticipation and anxiety in his spirit, the yearning for her touch that overcomes all else.</p>
<p><em>Are you sure?</em> She’s not going to pressure him.</p>
<p>The fine muscles in his jaw ripple with a groan. It’s sweet torture.</p>
<p>She stands on her toes and presses her lips to his, gentle and chaste. A tremor sings through them both, and the Force sighs.</p>
<p>She settles back to her heels and scans between his eyes. “Was that okay?”</p>
<p>“More than.” His voice is thick and raw.</p>
<p>He slides his free hand around her waist, tugs her hips closer, and—nevermind the weapons she carries—she melts into him with the same exquisite, heady pleasure that assaulted them in the cowl. She’d weave her fingers into his hair if her arms weren’t full. His heart’s pinging madly within his chest, but the faint trace of a smile tilts his lips before his head angles down and his mouth covers hers, and—  <em>Oh. </em>She is lost. Liquid light and warmth flood their empty places and spill over. It’s deep satisfaction and homecoming, the dyad in bloom, and concluded too soon.</p>
<p>His breath caresses her lips as he pulls back to rest his forehead against hers. “I love you, Rey Solo.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They’re crowded into the single-seat cockpit of Kylo Ren’s newest TIE Whisper, fitted out with a stunning array of upgrades, including non-standard hyperdrive. No wonder Ben didn’t complain about the prior’s loss. They probably should have taken his command shuttle, but he’d already filed a flight plan for this craft and she had enough trouble infiltrating the hangar without being seen. Best not to raise questions.</p>
<p>Rey itches to examine the tech but can’t quite bring herself to crawl from the coziness of his lap. It’s still more physical touch than he’s accustomed to—not that he’s complaining—but positively roomy after their bout with his cowl.</p>
<p>Hyperspace bleeds past the viewport. Even knowing nothing can ever separate them again, the minutes until they must part on Kef Bir will still fly too fast. These are their last moments of quiet before they enact the battle plan for Exegol and start down the road to peace in the galaxy.</p>
<p>Ben leans forward to adjust a sensor and his lips brush near her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.</p>
<p>“Where’s your optimism?" He says with a chuckle. "It won’t be as bad as all that. I’m sure we’ll find plenty of quiet moments.”</p>
<p>They’d better.</p>
<p>Rey revels in the press of his chest and rhythm of his heart at her back, in the rich spice that is uniquely him. “Is it selfish of me that I just want to run off somewhere no one can find us and be alone with you?” Somewhere they might have a chance to bring about the future she saw when they touched hands.</p>
<p>“Someday, my sweet,” he says and then to her mind, <em>Show me?</em></p>
<p>He doesn’t need to ask. Her vision is as accessible to him as it is to her, and they fall into it together.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sunlight blinds her for a moment before her eyes adjust and sight resolves. Children lurch through the sand to the water’s edge, their giggles frothy as the surf. A girl with dusky curls turns and her face is unmistakably a softer, feminine version of her father.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Come on, Mummy!” She waves with animation.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rey glances up to the man strolling beside her. Ben. He’s dressed in a dark sweater, blue not black, and levitating a hamper of food, towels and clothes along behind them. The sea breeze tousles his hair. It’s too cold to swim or even to paddle, but that’s not going to stop the kids. They are their parents’ children after all. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He smiles. A real smile. Brimming with good humor and uneven teeth, wide and white, that creases fans at the edges of his eyes and chisels deep valleys in his cheeks. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Go on then,” he says with a nod and a squeeze of his broad, warm hand.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Rey stands on her toes to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then she laughs and dashes after their daughter and her siblings, who are already playing keep away with the breakers. A battle they are sure to lose.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She catches the girl, swings her chortling in her arms, and settles her back on the beach. Rey turns and shades her eyes against the glare. Ben walks toward them, tall and strong, a dark figure silhouetted in light.</em>
</p>
<p>Understanding breaks over them at the same time, in that mystery of shared thought. He did not foresee a shadowed future at all, but only the counterpart to hers. Their visions, hers light and his dark, belong to a single day, an afternoon on the beach followed by a night on their yacht.</p>
<p>This is their future:</p>
<p>Their children exhaust themselves chasing the surf and building starships in the sand. From their bunks in the forward cabin, they sleep the unbroken sleep of the innocent and dream the sweet dreams of the loved and protected.</p>
<p>Rey and Ben come above deck to soak in the peaceful night. Just the two of them. A private moment in the midst of their family holiday away from galactic responsibilities. The red glow is from the cockpit’s night light. The rhythmic pounding is the surf crashing on the shore not far from where they anchored. The shifting ground is the deck rolling with the swells. The astringent air is the ocean’s mineral tang. And their black apparel is not at all a harbinger of doom, but only his incorrigible cowl determined to keep them snug and warm since they will insist on braving the cold.</p>
<p>And the endless dark that surrounds and embraces them?</p>
<p><em>Look up,</em> Rey says. Because in Ben’s vision he only looked down at her.</p>
<p>They stare into the onyx sky. No light pollution reaches their secluded island, so removed from civilization. No moons rise. The night is riddled with stars, black velvet strung with ropes upon ropes of gemstones. They inhale with wonder as an aurora flares into being and flings scarves of brilliant light, magenta and teal, violet and gold, in an extravagant dance.</p>
<p>They have tread the starry sky and touched the face of Love. What joy is theirs to share so beautiful a darkness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, sweet kisses. They may joy in the beautiful dark, but my joy is writing and giving this story to you. I’ve loved every minute of it. Thank you for the gift of your time in reading and sharing your love for Reylo and your encouragement. I hope this was a bright spot in these trying times and uplifting to you too. &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3</p>
<p> </p>
<p>----------------------<br/>Gonna admit I’ve fallen a little more in love with these two in the union of their dyad. If (and this is a huge, fat IF for the far-off future that has to wait until I catch up on neglected RL and finish some other WIPs), but IF I were to write a sequel, feel free to let me know any scenes you'd love to see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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